


And Worlds Beyond

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:03:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen





	And Worlds Beyond

 

The ceiling and walls were covered in it.  To the drugged man staring into the depths of it, the universe seemed to be expanding right before his eyes. _Not the universe.  It was … something else_.  
  
"Ah,  you do see it, do you not Dr. Kuryakin?"  The voice was frail, a tremor betraying the advanced years of the man speaking.  Illya Kuryakin was tied to a table, a metal structure with bands coming from beneath and through openings at strategic points where a man's wrists and ankles might land if his arms and legs were splayed out from where he lay on his back.

  
Illya was indeed bound to this strange table, his bare skin against its cold surface.  Once again the Russian was stripped down to his shorts, a peculiar tactic that seemed to dog him repeatedly when in the hands of THRUSH.  
  
Now was no exception, to both the dressing down (literally), and the cocktail of drugs they insisted on pouring into his bloodstream.  What they sought still eluded them, however, and Illya continued to resist divulging the information he resolutely refused to share.  The aged man with the trembling voice intended to have the code he knew the man on the table possessed.  Like Kuryakin, Lester Limbaugh was a physicist, and the magnificent display above Illya's head was something that could change the course of world events if only…  
  
"You are a stubborn man, doctor.  But I shall break you, if by no other means than your own curiosity at what the code will provide.  Look at what is above you, all around you.  The world can be ours to share, we can alter it and the universe.  But first, you must tell me the code."  
  
Illya didn't bother to struggle against the metal bands that held him.  His brain felt as though full of holes, all of the knowledge he possessed seemed to be seeping out through them.  Eventually the code would as well, and then it would be over.  He was clinging to the belief, the hope, that his partner was not far off.  Surely Napoleon would come and save him and the world.  Just one more time, they must save the world.  
  
Limbaugh was rattling on about something but Illya was forcing himself to concentrate on only one thing: save the code.  His ability to do so was lessening with every minute, and the sound of the THRUSH researcher's incessant words seemed to widen the holes in Illya's brain, causing a cascade of information to swirl into a frothy abyss where there could be no more secrets.  
  
"Hurry Napoleon…'  The words were slurred and hard to understand, but they caused Limbaugh to hover over the blond man as he listened for more.  
  
"Hurry Napoleon, hurry Napoleon…" Illya kept repeating it, like a mantra.  It was the only means of keeping everything else inside.  The images overhead became like a game to Illya, and for every hollow globe he assigned a number.  As he repeated the same phrase over and over, he mentally counted.  This went on for several minutes, until Limbaugh could stand it no longer.  
  
"Enough, you are telling me nothing!"  In a fit of anger that belied his age and approaching frailty, the old man slapped Illya so hard that his head rang from the impact.  It didn't stop him from repeating his mantra, enraging Limbaugh even more.  The old scientist was wearing an electric glove, similar to the original developed by Cirilo Diaz some thirty years previous.  Tired of the provocateur on his table, Limbaugh touched Illya with the glove and sent a fifteen hundred volt shock, made even more painful by the steel bed beneath him.  
  
"There you nasty little Bolshevik, now you will give me that code or fry here one shock at a time."  Anger had now become hysteria, a madness that had waited until this moment to manifest.  Illya was breathless from the jolt, but in a stubborn determination often rued by his partner, he began to repeat his mantra once more.  
  
"Hurry Napoleon, hurry Napoleon…''  
  
Limbaugh was ready to deliver another shock when he grabbed his neck and turned towards the door.  Napoleon was there, his gun raised and ready to fire again should the dart not work immediately.  It wouldn't do for his partner to be unable to get out of this place.  
  
Limbaugh looked once more at Illya before falling to the floor.  Outside in the hallway a team of UNCLE agents were rounding up the THRUSH entourage of guards and scientists. Napoleon hadn't come alone, not this time.  
  
Weak from the drugs and that electric shock, Illya nonetheless had an urgency in his voice as he called out to his partner.  
  
"Napoleon, hurry, we need to dismantle this device."  Solo recognized the need to be about UNCLE business, and he made quick work of releasing Illya from the table.  The clothes that had been taken from Kuryakin were in a heap near the door, and Napoleon quickly retrieved them for his friend.  Illya was unsteady as he pulled on jeans and his turtleneck.  Socks and boots went on and finally, breathless and pale, he stood to begin the process of dismantling Limbaugh's strange creation.  
  
Napoleon was perplexed, he didn't understand what the image could do that made Illya so agitated.  He watched as his partner pulled levers and pushed buttons, each motion extinguishing part of the picture.  He had counted them because each had a numerical value, and now, closer to his right mind, he understood that the equation was in the globes; the code he possessed would unlock the collective work and send it through a maze of communication channels, invading national networks with a controlling rotary dial.  
  
It was a brilliant plan, but flawed by the need for the one piece that had been stolen by Illya.  That code unlocked it, but it would also destroy it.  After several minutes of computations and keystrokes, he did just that.  
  
Instantly the image disappeared, leaving an ordinary looking ceiling held up by equally plain white walls.  The danger was also gone, thanks to the brilliant deductions on the part of Dr. Kuryakin.  
  
Napoleon had watched without understanding, and now as the image disappeared, he was amazed at how easily it seemed for Illya to maneuver through the process.  He also saw the lapse of energy now as adrenaline ceased to flow and the effects of his ordeal in this satrapy overtook him.  
  
Illya felt it, sought someplace to sit down but it was too late.  He sank to his knees before Napoleon could catch him, folding in on himself as the pain and disorientation rose to the surface once more.  
  
"Illya, here… ' Napoleon reached down and took him by the shoulders. "Let me help you.  Come on… here we go."  
  
Finally up and able to walk, Illya didn't let go of Napoleon's arm until they were safely in the car.  The team inside would handle the clean up, Napoleon left another Section II agent in charge.  His priority was to get his partner back to the city, into Medical and out of danger.  
  
The drive back was uneventful, and they were met at the ambulance entrance in the parking garage.  Illya was not unconscious but he was not alert either.  A gurney was in place as the blue convertible pulled into the open spot; quick work removed Illya and transported him inside as Napoleon hailed a Section III agent to park his car.  He followed the medics and gurney inside, unsure whether he should be concerned or if this was just the usual aftermath to THRUSH drugs.  
  
Napoleon took note as several of the nurses seemed to inhale a little more deeply than usual at the sight of his partner.  Illya was pale, still unresponsive.  What had happened between his brilliant work at the satrapy and now?  Napoleon waited anxiously for the physician to emerge with some kind of explanation.  
  
When at last the double doors opened and Dr. Wainwright appeared, Napoleon had imagined too many scenarios where his friend was severely damaged.  Now he hoped for news to dispel those fears.  
  
"How is he?  What did you find out?"  Jeremy Wainwright was a few years older than  Napoleon and Illya, but a man who understood the nature of a relationship between partners.  He had been military before returning home and attending medical school, and the camaraderie between soldiers had inspired him to seek out UNCLE.  As he looked at Napoleon his empathy for the emotional ride that these men endured made him wish momentarily that he had opted for their side of the mission instead of medicine.  
  
"Napoleon, it's okay.  Illya is dehydrated and still under the effects of the drugs administered by that mad scientist he encountered.  The shock in the electric glove didn't help any, but he's going to be fine.  Right now he's exhausted, and the adrenaline surge that he experienced produced a massive let down once he completed his task.  From what you told me, and what little Illya has said, it sounds like he really did rise to the occasion, in spite of everything."  
  
Napoleon let out a sigh, a breath that had waited for good news.  
  
"Thank you Jeremy, that's really good news.  I mean, well… he's not in great shape, but he'll be fine, right?"  
  
''Yes, once again your Russian partner will be fine.  Now, you need to get some rest as well.  I think more than one nurse is keeping a very close eye on Illya, so no need to worry about him.' He knew that partners very seldom left each other alone when first admitted to medical.  
  
"But, if you feel like you need to hang around, there's another bed in there.  Go ahead, be a partner."  Napoleon had to grin at that as he reached out and shook hands with the other man.  
  
"Thanks, I guess I can stay for a little while."  
  
A little while turned into the next twelve hours, but that didn't surprise anyone.


End file.
